


Anatomy

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, M/M, Medical Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had a request for something light-hearted with Combeferre/Grantaire. Thus, here we are! Inklings of body worship, and lots of teasing. Possible medical kink. Combeferre shows off in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy

Combeferre pressed his lips to Grantaire’s, grinning a little against the other man’s mouth as he pressed him up against his door. Grantaire’s hands grabbed blindly for the handle, and when he managed to grasp it, he fell backwards, laughing as the med student stumbled in after him.

"That was cruel!" Combeferre complained, but Grantaire just grinned at him, kicking the door closed after them once he’d pulled his keys from the lock. He threw them on the counter.

"Deserved." He retorted, and Combeferre snorted, grabbing at the hem of the other man’s t-shirt and pulling it up and over his head.

"Deserved, eh?"

"For teasing me in the Musain." Grantaire answered as he kicked off his shoes; he wore no socks. 

"God, Grantaire, Pluto stopped being a planet nearly fifteen years ago, you, and especially Enjolras, are people of logic, you shouldn’t be so concerned with-" Combeferre had thought the whole argument ridiculous, and he hadn’t been surprised at Jehan and Bossuet, men of eccentricity, defending Pluto’s status as a planet, but  _Enjolras?_  Grantaire?

”No, I will not hear this blasphemy!” Grantaire ran from the room and to the bedroom, fiddling with his belt as he went. He dropped his trousers once inside, leaving him naked.

"Did you go commando again?"

"Underwear is the work of our fascist oppressors." Combeferre choked on air, laughing a little at the pilfered phrase from Enjolras’ favoured lexicon.

"Now  _you’re_  being cruel.” Grantaire sniggered, throwing himself back on the bed and spreading his legs and his arms.

"Ravish me, good doctor. Show me your passion, your rod of Asclepius, the bright light of Apollo, the skill of Panacea!" Combeferre crossed his arms, regarding the other man with raised eyebrows. 

"That would be rather poetic, but… My  _rod of Asclepius?”_

"Shove it in me." Combeferre put his face in his hands, and Grantaire grinned at him. Then, he looked up, setting his glasses on the side table. He wouldn’t need them up close. He took off his own shoes, leaving his shirt and green sweater-vest, his black trousers, on. 

Then, he moved up onto the bed, insinuating himself between Grantaire’s legs and running his hands down the other man’s body, his own lips quirking into something of a smirk. “You did anatomy, didn’t you?”

"Mmm-hmm." Grantaire’s eyes had closed, and he arched like a cat for Combeferre’s warm hands trailing over his skin.

"Does that include the bones of the human body?"

"To an extent. Joints, mostly. Just so you’re creating an accurate representation of the way those limbs are moving, and so you have the right skeleton beneath." Grantaire’s eyes opened, grey-blue eyes catching Combeferre’s own. "Why?"

"D’you know their names?"

"Names? No." Combeferre’s smirk evolved into a sort of smug grin.

"Well then. Here, we have the clavicle." Combeferre murmured, tracing over Grantaire’s collarbone with his finger. "Here, the scapula." He traced down Grantaire’s right arm, touch merely ghosting the skin, perhaps frustratingly so. "The humerus is here. Here, the radius and the ulna." 

Grantaire’s smile had gained a dreamy quality as he watched Combeferre’s hands on his skin. “This is ridiculous.” He protested despite his obvious enjoyment, but Combeferre ignored him.

"Ah, the hand. Here, we have the carpals." He caressed the base of Grantaire’s hand, and Combeferre considered in the back of his mind that Grantaire’s hands were skilled and clever from holding a brush, a pencil, from playing piano, from boxing. "There are eight of them. Do you know their names?"

"Not at all." Grantaire said good-naturedly, splaying out his hand as Combeferre stroked teasingly over his palm.

"There is the scaphoid, the lunate, the pisiform, the triquetral, the trapezium, the trapezoid, the capitate and the hamate."

"Wow. All those." Grantaire said, and although the sarcasm was evident in his tone, he made no complaint. "Now the phalanges."

"I thought you didn’t know their names?" Combeferre teased.

"I know they’re phalanges."

"You should know the metacarpals come first then." Combeferre said, and he stroked over the lines of the bones below the meat of Grantaire’s hands. "Then the phalanges." He dipped to kiss the skin as he murmured, "Proximal, middle, distal."

"I knew that." Grantaire insisted, and Combeferre laughed at him.

"Sure you did." Grantaire pulled Combeferre’s hands back to his chest, arching plaintively, but without saying a thing.

"Ah, the sternum, the ribcage…"

"Tell me the muscles." Grantaire demanded.

"The muscles? Ah, so your trapezius… Pectoralis major… The abdominal muscles…" Grantaire pressed up for more of the touch, lips parting in a silent moan.

"Gluteus maximus."

"Wasn’t touching that." Combeferre teased.

"Touch it  _now_.” Grantaire spread his legs, putting his feet flat on the bed and canting his hips. Combeferre sighed, shaking his head. 

"Interrupting my revision session once again." Grantaire kneed him in the thigh, and Combeferre laughed, slapping the other man’s in return. Combeferre leaned, putting his hands around Grantaire’s thighs and guiding Grantaire’s feet to rest on Combeferre’s back. He kissed from the inner part of Grantaire’s knee, trailing kisses down.

"Mmm, that’s more like it."

"Shut up." Combeferre said lightly, putting his lips to the base of Grantaire’s cock and trailing kisses up the shaft in the same way. He was half-hard from the attention, and when Combeferre traced the vein on the underside of his cock with his tongue, Grantaire’s hips bucked.

"You know what that’s called?"

"What?" Grantaire asked distractedly, and Combeferre traced the line from below the other man’s balls up to his cockhead.

"The perineal raphe, the scrotal raphe, the penile raphe… And here we have the frenulum, joining the corona of the glans, and the glans itself." Grantaire groaned as Combeferre dipped his head, sucking Grantaire’s cockhead into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks.

"That shouldn’t be  _hot_.” The artist complained, head dropping back as he closed his eyes. “Tell me about my prostate.”

"Impatient." Combeferre scolded, and Grantaire huffed, wriggling his hips. Combeferre reached over him, rifling through the drawer blindly and withdrawing his hand with lube, pressing two slick fingers against Grantaire’s entrance soon enough.

For a time, he was quiet, but Grantaire implored him, “No, keep with the anatomy lesson, please.”

"Your external sphincter and your internal sphincter." Combeferre continued as if he hadn’t stopped, pressing his two fingers forwards and making Grantaire shift impatiently. "And here…" Combeferre concentrated, shifting the position of his fingers and curling them to draw a choke out of the other man. "The prostate gland."

"Fuck me. Fuck me now." Grantaire demanded, fucking his hips up for more. "Come on, come on, you’ve been teasing for fucking  _ages-“_

Combeferre added a third finger, scissoring them and drawing a grunt from Grantaire’s mouth. Then, he slicked his cock and fucked forwards, putting his hands either side of Grantaire’s head as the brunet wrapped his legs securely around Combeferre’s, bringing him deeper.

"How’s- how’s your frenulum feel?" Combeferre snorted against Grantaire’s neck at the question, but to shut the other up he sped the movement of his hips, fucking forwards hard and fast, keeping a rhythm. 

Combeferre bit and nipped at Grantaire’s neck, leaving little red marks on the skin there, and Grantaire laughed, tangling his hands in Combefere’s hair and pulling him closer. He pulled Combeferre up into a kiss he took to greedily, lips against Combeferre’s, tongue against Combeferre’s.

Grantaire took satisfaction in Combeferre’s whimper when he nipped at the other’s lip. “Did- did you know the science of kissing is called philematology?”

Combeferre laughed, incredulous. “What?”

"You just showed off for half a fucking hour: I know things too." Combeferre threw his head back, laughing, and pulled the other over with him, so Combeferre was on his back and Grantaire straddling the other’s cock.

"I know you do." Combeferre said lightly, pulling Grantaire down for another kiss and tangling his hands in Grantaire’s hair as the brunet had done to him a few moments before. Combeferre came first, and he made the effort to grasp at Grantaire’s cock and bring him off quickly. 

Both of them were left breathing heavily as Grantaire fell to Combeferre’s side, hot and shining with sweat. “That was great.” Grantaire said, and Combeferre nodded. “Combeferre.” The med student looked to the other man, who regarded him very seriously for a few moments before gesturing to the mess of white between them, stained on Grantaire’s stomach and Combeferre’s own. “If you really want me impressed by your medical knowledge, tell me about the chemical composition of my come.”

Combeferre shoved him, and Grantaire nearly fell on the floor as he guffawed. 


End file.
